


Treasure Box

by Artist_in_Space



Series: Ways to Say I Love You [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Cute Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), This is pure fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i am actually just a sucker for these two, i cannot believe i could write these stuff but here we are, this is the start of a fluff series i know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23094868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artist_in_Space/pseuds/Artist_in_Space
Summary: Crowley sees a small box hidden in the bookshop, and gets curious. When he sees that it's full of little trinkets from their past interactions-- well, let's say that Crowley is besotted.--A short drabble on Aziraphale's tendency to keep little treasures, and how Crowley never knew how much the angel actually cared.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ways to Say I Love You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659853
Comments: 3
Kudos: 110





	Treasure Box

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to search about CDs, and somehow it evolved to this. It seems like everything I write now will be Ineffable Husbands, and honestly, I'm not complaining.

Crowley saw it in the corner of his eyes _—_ something hidden to the majority of people, and beings if he would've guessed right. It was in a spot behind a few bookshelves, where the wall and the 'computing' table met. 

In fairness, it was well-concealed, but Crowley was a demon with an unquenchable curiosity, so really, Aziraphale should've seen it.

And well _—_ considering he had just come home from visiting a signing of a book that he liked, it was just moments after Crowley peeked into it when the angel unceremoniously yelled to snatch the box from him.

Of which the angel failed, which brings them to now.

* * *

“No,  _ no, no, angel—“ _

“You fiend—Crowley! Stop that—!”

Crowley hissed and tumbled onto the hood of the Bentley, raising the box up in the air. He was sporting a mischievous grin on his face, and he laughed outright when the angel below made feeble attempts to take the box. “I  _ cannot believe it!  _ You never told me that you kept these! I should’ve known!”

Aziraphale scrunched his eyebrows, cheeks flaring in embarrassment. “You’re a ridiculous demon! Give it back!”

The object they were currently talking about—the center of attention as of the moment—was a small box that had tartan patterns on its sides, indicating the owner as the angel. The angel who seems seconds away from pouting, if Crowley knew the angel, of which he did.

“I’m opening it again…” Crowley said in a sing-song tone, and he grinned even wider when Aziraphale’s mouth pinched into a pout. “Aw, don’t be so peeved angel…” He slid down and pecked his cheek. “I think it’s cute.”

“I’m allowed to be peeved, thank you.” Aziraphale murmured in his upset tone, but his lips quirked into a pleased smile at the kiss. “You don’t have to tease me about it though. I—there’s a reason why I treasure them so.”

Crowley’s grin turned into a soft smile, unbidden. “Well, I really should’ve expected it from you, angel.”

The contents of the box was what made Crowley so delighted—seeing that they were little trinkets that Crowley had given Aziraphale from their millennia of friendship and more. There was one of the oyster shells from Rome, and  _ how  _ it stayed intact, it was probably only through a miracle. Then there was that time when Crowley wrote on the back of a tissue with a “:D” written on it, a trend that they never thought would’ve caught on with humanity; one of his original lenses, which took way longer in the past than today. There were several more—a pen with a top-hat that made Crowley laugh hysterically when he bought it (and Aziraphale ungracefully snorted because it looks ridiculous), a very small Bible that Crowley just threw from yonder, a small Coca-Cola can when it first got introduced (and the smell of actual drugs made him almost die from laughter. Aziraphale was not amused), and several receipts of their dining adventures.

All in all, it had tickled that small, bright spot in Crowley, which urged him to just yell to the world on how much he loved this angel who loved too much and more. While he’d rather do that, he instead channeled the urge to tease the angel beside him.

Mission accomplished, because Aziraphale was thoroughly miffed.

“I just didn’t think you’d keep these.” He murmured, stopping his tirade. He wrapped his arm around the angel’s torso, squeezing him gently. “I always thought you’d throw them away. They’re rubbish—I don’t even know why you even kept that receipt of the Ritz.”

“It’s not rubbish, and that’s utter nonsense, my dearest.” Aziraphale murmured, taking the box from him. He opened the backdoor and placed it on the seat, rifling through the contents. “Even if I couldn’t express it, I would never throw anything that you’ve given to me.”

Crowley blinked when he recognized one of the contents (but he recognized them all, this one just caught his eye). He stretched out and plucked the small CD, mouth forming into an ‘o’ when he realized what it was.

“Hey!” He grinned. “Love Over Gold! I didn’t think—“, he cleared his throat when Aziraphale side-eyed him with an amused look, “—I…It’s, you called this  _ bebop,  _ angel. You hate bebop.”

(He remembered it clearly; he had bought it in one of the stores after the BBC aired it in 1982, on an October night. It was probably the lyrics that made him rush-buy the thing—which Aziraphale had teased him for, afterwards—but he had thrusted the album towards a surprised angel that time.

Aziraphale had regarded it with  _ “Really, Crowley, is this one of your bebop again?”  _ and Crowley whined till the angel indulged him into playing it in the bookshop. He rather poked the angel for  _ “not listening, you utter twat”  _ which earned him a  _ “some beings actually worked, dear boy.” _

Suffice to say, he kind of thought that Aziraphale did not like it.)

“I don’t hate!” Aziraphale harrumphed, crossing his arms. “Angels can’t hate. Besides, I don’t  _ hate  _ bebop, I just don’t prefer it.”

“ _ Semantics.”  _ Crowley waved his hand, still enthralled at the mint condition of one of UK’s first few copies of a CD. And yep, it’s signed as well.

“It  _ is  _ semantics, and—oh I wouldn’t bother.” Aziraphale turned his gaze towards Crowley, and made a noise of confusion. “I know it’s called— _ Dire Straits,  _ was it, it’s hardly one of the oldest things I have, I do have that CD of ABBA and Eine Alpensinfonie you got me afterwards, dear. Why are you so stuck onto that album?”

“Yeah, yeah, no,” Crowley nodded. “But this—you didn’t have to. I know you have The Visitors and Strauss’ CDs in those records you have at the back. But this one… This one is packed. Here. In your…”

_ The box, _ he wanted to say, but his mouth clammed up in realization.  _ The box of trinkets and memories you carefully stocked in your room, away from prying eyes or hands, more secure than your precious books. The box that you treasure most. _

“I know.” Aziraphale murmured softly, understanding Crowley’s silence. The angel reached out to caress his face gently. “I actually liked Love Over Gold. I—forgive me.” Aziraphale’s cheeks colored again. “I actually thought that it was very sweet of you, to give it to me. It was nice. I listened to it in the shop—after you left. Er.”

Crowley’s breath stilled. “Ssso, that night in the bookshop—“, he whispered curiously.

It didn’t end with Aziraphale shooing him out of the door for playing it? Aziraphale had  _ liked it? _

_ Even to play it again? _

“I played it again,” Aziraphale murmured. “I think I remember some of the lyrics, forgive me if it’s not particularly correct… _ You throw your love to all the strangers, and the caution to the wind…”  _ He sang softly, then furrowed his eyebrows, as if realizing something in between. “ _ It takes love over gold, and mind over matter, to do what you do that you must… When the things that you hold, can fall and be shattered, or run through your fingers like dust…” _

Crowley looks at the angel with an indecipherable look on his face, then tentatively puts up his hands onto the other’s cheeks and pulls him into a kiss.  _ You utterly, frighteningly beautiful angel. You really did listen to it. _

Aziraphale was surprised at first, but then relaxed into the hold.

“You want to hear it again, angel?” He giddily asked after separating, leading him to the backseat. “I haven’t listened to this particular album in a while.”

“Wouldn’t the Bentley…?” Aziraphale murmured, placing a hand on the side mirror. “I trust in your car, really, but it has the tendency to change your records… especially that Velvet Underground CD you had, that turned into a Queen’s Best Hits CD quite quickly. And I’d rather… well,” he closed the box protectively. “Keep it in its original state.”

Crowley felt his heart constrict at realizing how much love Aziraphale was directing towards this little gift he had given, and he mentally reprimanded the Bentley to keep quiet if he was to still keep his care. Aziraphale  _ treasured  _ this. “Nah. It’d take two weeks, right? You can play it just for today.”

He followed Aziraphale into the backseat, and reached over to put the CD.

As the music played, he placed his head on the angel’s shoulder, and he smiled as Aziraphale tugged him to his side to get them closer.

Amazingly, the Bentley played the song, and he fell asleep in his angel’s warm embrace and gentle humming.


End file.
